


Dusty Trail

by Kakikukeko



Category: Oregon Trail (Video Game)
Genre: Oregon Trail, Zombie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 18:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kakikukeko/pseuds/Kakikukeko





	Dusty Trail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lanerose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanerose/gifts).



August 8, 1854.

I can’t believe I’m already on to a second journal! Myrna was right giving me two. We left Independence 4 weeks ago, but it seems like it was a while longer than that. Days to go on forever on the plains, since there’s nothing around and nothing to do, and the heat is blistering during midday. I reckon it reached near 90* yesterday and today. There’s no shade anywhere, no trees. Hardly any live grass’s left for the oxen. Water’s sparse. It’s mighty worrying, but that’s just summertime, I s’pose.

There’s been strange things happening out here on the plains though, ones that don’t resonate too normal with me. I don’t know if my fears are unwarranted from my lifetime of living in a city or if I’m justified. No one knows, because everyone else’s another emigrant from a place back East. But for example, Hoss went out to hunt last week. He came back with a deer and a right frightening tale of a buffalo he saw that had its head cut damn near fully open. There weren’t any people around, but an abandoned wagon was nearby, still chock full of clothes, food, and even a few valuables. He didn’t take any, said it’d be disrespectful if the poor folk had been killed by some madman. It sounded horrifying! But then, lo and behold just yesterday we saw another one of those mutilated buffalo on the side of the main trail, maimed in the way Hoss was telling us about, but no abandoned Conestoga. Lord, did Buffalo stink to high heavens. Chris of course immediately exclaimed that it must be the work of demons. Kate was especially disturbed. She’s such a sweet child and I hope her imagination doesn’t run away with her. I don’t know what to believe, hopefully it’s wolves and not a murderer or a sasquatch or something to that effect. Imagining actual, living demons bothers me too much. Trying to be rational can be difficult when there’s not much to occupy your thoughts.

August 11, 1854.

It’s powerfully hot. We’ve barely been able to travel during the day, and at night, we don’t ride much since there’s thieves and animals and maybe a murderer on the loose? A lot of the hustle and bustle happens at dawn and evening and it’s very tiring. I have to stop being so paranoid, Chris said it’s getting on his nerves. Kate and I hear strange sounds every now and then when we’re least expecting it. Loud, almost groany sounds come from out in the fields as it gets later in the evening. Hoss says it’s the wind, but I don’t know if I believe it. I wonder if anyone else in other wagons hears them or knows what’s making them. I tell myself it’s probably animals. I suppose if there were any need to worry, someone in the other wagon’d alert us, since they’re still traveling fairly close. There’s always our trusty rifle with us, and God willing we won’t need to use it for anything besides hunting.

I hope we make it to Fort Bridger soon and can rest, there’s trail dust in my lungs and I’d love to sleep in a bed, even if it’s a bunk. The map says it’ll only be another two or three days at the slow rate we’re moving. It’s too bad the supplies out this far cost so much, it’d be swell to be able to stock up on more bullets and hardtack, but we’ll have to trade; although Chris found some wild fruit that hadn’t withered yet, luckily. Every little bit helps but looking back on it...maybe Hoss should have taken some things from that wagon.

 

August 13, 1854.

Finally, we arrived at Ft. Bridger, but tranquility isn’t here. People are all atwitter about some strange phantom someone says they saw near the Snake River a few nights ago. It’s mighty distracting. Some say it carried someone’s nephew off, some say it just made a horrible noise and disappeared into the river. It’s all conjecture, but I’ve heard those noises myself. One’s tempted to never get back on the trail again, despite what Oregon’s got waiting for us. Kate is a little apprehensive, but is still young and gets sidetracked by flowers or toys or candy at the fort store pretty quickly. How lucky she is to get so distracted so easily! At least there’ll be a few days of safety within the fort’s walls before we head further out towards Soda Springs. I can’t wait to get there, there’ll finally be some ample water! Everything here is bone dry! The wells just don’t do it for all the travelers that stop over.The oxen aren’t having it; it’s nearly impossible to get them moving sometimes. Hoss has had more than a few choice words with them. It is, however, nice to see people and socialize a bit.

August 16, 1854.

Last night was the worst night of my life. We’d barely left Fort Bridger to rest and restock a little when we rode off into the sunset ahead of the other parties, and I’d never felt so weary. It’s hard to sleep in a strange bed when there’s lots people and just as many noises...but I digress. Stars were just beginning to come out in the sky, and in the back of the wagon, Kate and Chris were whining something awful, fighting over the last pieces of candy. The wagon took us a few miles down the trail before one of our wheels snapped like a twig on a rock. Hoss was pretty riled since we had to light extra oil lamps, but the process went smoothly as we had an extra wheel from a trade. While he was changing it, we were all off the wagon puttering around in the dusk, when, out of nowhere Chris stared screaming. He saw a man moaning and jerkily walking towards us. The man was deformed, covered in blood and dirt, with torn clothes. The poor soul looked dead, there was no mistaking it. I’ve never seen such a horror in all my days.

We yelled and Hoss bolted up from the wheel, then he reached out to get the gun inside the front of the wagon. I hollered at him to be careful, but he approached the figure and when it lunged at him, he started firing-- I swore I was dreaming, but it was real as life right in front of my eyes. I hustled to get Chris and Kate back up into the wagon, and Hoss started yelping. The beast was biting him, I swear on a stack of bibles. Like he was after his head. I couldn’t hardly think, but I grabbed a cast iron griddle and ran out to him. By the time I got near enough though, the creature had knocked Hoss down. There was blood all over-- you could see it reflected in the newly risen moon’s light-- and then it was coming after me! Hoss lay motionless, and I yelled out to him to no avail before dropping the pan and running back. I climbed up to the board and whipped the oxen like I never thought I’d be capable of, and thank heavens, they understood my urgency and started moving. Chris clutched Kate and held her still. I wanted to go back and check if Hoss was dead, but in my gut I knew there was no way he was alive. There was too much blood. Kate was looking out the back, crying and saying the dead man was following us...eventually he was out of sight that we could tell. I couldn’t look back. I’ve never been so petrified. We didn’t stop that night, we rode straight through til morning. I did not stop until Soda Springs.

 

August 19, 1854.

At Soda Springs, hours and hours later, the three of us had a talk about what happened. I told Chris and Kate we weren’t to talk about what transpired. No one wants to be called crazy, and I’m no exception. No soul on this earth would ever believe what happened to us out there. Over the past day or two, I’ve been listening to the gossip of people traveling west. People who’d left after us from Fort Bridger. Nobody's mentioned a murder, no one’s seen any bodies. I’m confounded and terrified about the events of a few evenings ago, but the opportunity in Oregon waiting for us is motivation enough to put that nightmare behind me. I don't want to think about it, I can't dwell on it. I think we're going to stay here for a few more days before continuing on the path...despite the heat we're going to travel during the day, no doubt about it.


End file.
